CHARLES DICKENS DOMBEY AND SON CHAPTER I Dombey and ...

trembled as if a wintry wind were rustling them.
'My Kate,' said the lady, whose voice was serious, but very calm and sweet,
and had so impressed Florence from the first moment of her hearing it, 'of
all the youthful people here, you are her natural and harmless friend; you
have not the innocent means, that happier children have--'
'There are none happier, aunt!' exclaimed the child, who seemed to cling
about her.
'--As other children have, dear Kate, of reminding her of her misfortune.
Therefore I would have you, when you try to be her little friend, try all
the more for that, and feel that the bereavement you sustained--thank
Heaven! before you knew its weight--gives you claim and hold upon poor
Florence.'
'But I am not without a parent's love, aunt, and I never have been,' said
the child, 'with you.'
'However that may be, my dear,' returned the lady, 'your misfortune is a
lighter one than Florence's; for not an orphan in the wide world can be so
deserted as the child who is an outcast from a living parent's love.'
The flowers were scattered on the ground like dust; the empty hands were
spread upon the face; and orphaned Florence, shrinking down upon the ground,
wept long and bitterly.
But true of heart and resolute in her good purpose, Florence held to it as
her dying mother held by her upon the day that gave Paul life. He did not
know how much she loved him. However long the time in coming, and however
slow the interval, she must try to bring that knowledge to her father's
heart one day or other. Meantime she must be careful in no thoughtless word,
or look, or burst of feeling awakened by any chance circumstance, to
complain against him, or to give occasion for these whispers to his
prejudice.